R.I.P. Books?

I read in today's SF Chron that National Endowment for the Arts released it's new report on the state of reading in the U.S. entitled "To Read or Not to Read: A Question of National Consequence." (Click here to download a PDF version of the full report.) Among it's findings is evidence that Americans are reading less.

The article made me think back to my own book-filled childhood. I was a bookworm in a big way; my parents used to have to goad me into going out to play with the kids in my neighborhood because all I wanted to do was read. Reading Dr. Seuss' "Green Eggs and Ham" with my dad is the earliest memory I have of my lifelong love affair with books. My dad has always had an insatiable hunger for knowledge, which I think was the result of a the combination of his off the charts smarts and the general lack of satisfaction that he got from his incidental profession as a registered nurse. He has always been a motivated by big ideas and I think books were one of the few ways he could explore them. Undoubtedly, it was from my dad that I inherited my bibliophily. His study has an entire wall with floor to ceiling shelves full of books that seemed to huge when I was a kid. It was a treasure trove to me, all those stories just sitting there waiting to be read.

Judging from the SF Chron's article, it seems the the NEA points to the saturation of our lives by electronic distractions. Perhaps this is true for many kids who are more apt to play video games than grab a book, but I imagine that for most people, especially kids my age, it's simply a matter of not having time to read. I have enough reading for my classes to fill every moment of spare time and, admittedly, reading for leisure when I'm behind on course readings feels like a waste of time. And when I do have spare time, the last thing I want to do is shove my nose into another book. This is a sad, sad realization. Have I forgotten the joy of reading?!

I long for the times when I couldn't get to bed without being taken away on some literary journey for a few hours. I miss the feeling of settling into your own imagination and the simultaneous experience of transcending your own existence. I miss having my breath taken away by the beauty of exquisitely crafted sentences and the revelations of new ideas. I miss the excitement of cracking open a book for the first time, knowing that an entire world is about to unfold before you, and the satisfaction of turning the last page of a novel. I miss the musty smell of old books and the crisp scent of new ones (though I have a hard time justifying buying new these days). I miss the weight of a book in my hands and the comfort of having one to pull out while you're waiting for someone or something. I miss words and pages. I miss books.

Maybe I could start reading instead of procrastinating. Well, it would still be procrastinating, but it would undoubtedly be a lot more satisfying than perusing Facebook.